Between Heaven and Hell
by scasfra
Summary: An insight of Eliot's lifestyle and the reasons that lead him to it along with his point of viewn on life/death and heaven/hell. Sprinkles of E/S on it. Might right one more chapter if you like it.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a look of what I think it might have been Eliot's life context, what lead him to be what he was. It's also his vision of death, heaven and hell.**

The first time he almost died he was nineteen; he and his army buddy's had gotten from a mission when the Hummer they were in drove through a landmine. The entire thing blew up and he got stuck under a huge, heavy, piece of metal for two night and three days. He was the only survivor, his rescuers found him already unconscious, a couple more hours and he would be gone.

At the time Eliot was a pure boy, serving his country, thinking his was protecting the freedom of those he loved back at home so when his vision became all blurry and his body went stiff and still, not fighting to keep warm anymore he accepted what was coming to him, thinking that was the reward for his loyalty; that when the suffering ended he'd de be back with his momma in heaven, where he belonged. That was the last time he believed he was going to heaven.

The second time he found himself knocking at death's door he was twenty-two, doing the dirty work for the secret services of some country that paid him so much he could have never said no; with that money his dada could finally retire and got the medical attention he so much needed and his seven siblings could all go to college and still keep a roof over their heads and food on their stomach.

He was caught, sent to a prison where the rats at night where his only company and tortured they after day for information that never slipped out of him mouth. If it did, he knew his family wouldn't get the money he had worked so hard for.

He lied down on the dirt, not being able to move as his limbs became numb and the voices and sounds surrounding became distant and distorted as if he was under water. He coughed and the taste of metal invaded his mouth letting him now his lungs were filling with blood. That was it, he thought; that was the end of the road.

He woke seven days later on a small town Hospital with more broken bones than what he could count and a sore body. He could have quit right there. He was too good at what he did though, and people just wouldn't let a man like him slip between their feelings, also, the cash they paid him was too much to refuse.

He bought his dada some horses and got the porch fixed and he paid his little sister the wedding she had always dreamed of.

After a few more jobs he stopped counting both, the money, his enemies and the trail of destruction he left behind. He could die any time now; he didn't care.

Eliot was not scared of death, he wasn't even afraid of how he'd die.

He knew he'd go to hell anyway so whatever pain he'd go through during the process of dying it would only be a small taste of what he'd be getting. If, by chance, there was no hell then, it would only be his much deserved punishment.

He was pretty sure there was hell because he needed heaven to exist and he prayed every day the people whose lives he took were there, safe and sound.

One day he got the news his little brother had been murdered on his own house, the house Eliot had bought him, along with his wife and baby. He later knew the people responsible for the death of his brother were hired goons that were avenging their boss for whatever thing Eliot had done to him. After that Eliot never returned home, he became blind with rage and stopped feeling guilty as he took lives.

He went work for Moreau and agreed he would whatever he wanted him to do as long as his family was safe.

He killed people, innocent people, so the third time he almost died was like all the others that followed. He didn't fight to breathe, he didn't fight to stay awake as his eyelids became heavier and heavier by the second because he knew, after what he had done, any day he got had been an undeserved present and now, it was time to pay his debt. It was indifferent, die and go to hell or survive and continue in hell. There was nothing for him on hearth, not anymore.

Eliot almost died four more times while working for Moreau until finally he decided he had enough and walked away. Strangely, Moreau gave him his blessing. Of course there was scorn on it for Moreau knew no man could walk away from what he was, especially not a man like Spencer, besides that, everyone was replaceable and the hitter represented no danger to him so why would him let the hitter go?

He never got back to being what he was with Moreau, he also never got back to being what he was before the army. He became a retrieval specialist; that sounded less a harmful than what really was and once again Eliot found his hands stained with blood so he stopped running away from it. He was not one to end his own life yet he started eagerly awaiting to meet the man that would finally end him…

Present day, Portland

This could be a time like any other, him lying on the concrete floor feeling colder by the second, with that awful metallic taste on his mouth and too much blood coming out of a bullet wound. His chest aches when he breathes and he's tired. He's dying, so, yes, this could be a time like any other except the voices around him aren't threatening, but caring and desperate as they see the life fleeing out of his body. His job is done, he thinks, he protected Sophie from being shot, hell, he protected them and that was his job. These five years were a blessing, a little of light in a darkened room, yet, it's his time to go and have is punishment for the good deeds he did with the team do not pay for all his sins.

He's still convinced he belongs in hell; he's sure of it so he lays there not fighting, awaiting his fate until a brunette leans over him and he feels her vanilla scent. He can't quite see her, no he can't admire her smile or her big brown eyes for everything seems like he's watching through frosted glass, and he can't extend his hand to touch her silky dark hair, but he can't hear her calling his name and he manages to twist the corners of his lips into a smile and call her with the last of his strenght.

"Soph..." He wants her to stay close and she does, holding his cold hand, squeezing his numb fingers so he knows she's there. He doesn't feel her hand on his and everything is blurred now so there's not even a hint of her in his vision, however, he still can smell her and he can still hear here asking him to stay. He doesn't.

He closes his eyes and all sounds fade away, there's no more pain, no more feeling could, no more bloody mouth, no more nothing, just that last vision of Sophie standing by his side and he feels blessed for he's going to hell, but he got a taste of heaven before he died. Just before he died...

**Did you like this? I can write a second chapter where Eliot doesn't die so if want to see it, review. **

**Be nice to me and I'll be nice to you! ;) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Guest – I am glad you are thinking of opening an account but I really don't what your name should be since it's a personal thing. PM is really easy on fanfiction but don't worry, I'll keep responding at the beginning of my chapters until you get along with it. I am sorry to hear you don't like E/S stories, especially because this one has a bit of them. I hope you enjoy it anyways.**

**A/N: This chapter was a piece of work, I had so many different ideas for this I didn't know which one to choose. I almost killed him at an early age again five different times, until finally, I managed to pull off something else. I don't know what to make out of this and must warn you it's not exactly the happy ending you any be expecting to read therefor all your opinions on this will be really helpful so I can be better next time.**

His momma didn't wear neat clothes, instead, she wore discoloured, parched clothes under an equally discoloured apron that was like a second skin to her; one she wore day after day to clean her hands or her kid's faces and always smelled like cake. His mother had too many wrinkles on a face that was too young and carried too many weights on a chest that didn't deserve it, at the age of thirty-two her hair already was sprinkled with white and her fingers were deformed due to the hard work she had done from a young age. But still, to Eliot, she was the most beautiful woman in the world those grey eyes that could calm you down or make you fear for your life and that smile; the smile she wore like nobody else and always made him feel safe.

That's why he didn't ever forget the day that smile wore out, the day he found her on the kitchen table crying her eyeballs of, at the time, he was seven so he did only thing a scared boy could do, he hugged her, wanting to retrieve the smile that enlightened his days. He didn't know she was crying because she was too sick to work and her husband's income was just not enough, there was too much month at the end of their money and too many mouths to feed with too little food. He also didn't know she'd die only eight months later.

That crying sound burnt into Eliot's heart and he lived with it for the rest of his life so, when he heard it again, the desperate, broken, cringe, he recognized and he knew he was in hell.

Maybe, he thought, that was his punishment; maybe he'd have to hear the voices of those he'd hurt or failed for eternity. He became sure about it when Sophie's pleading voice joined the cries, but then he started hearing bleeping noises that he knew all too well and he realized everything around him felt comfortable and warm. The minute he started trying to make sense out of all of that the smell of Vanilla invaded his nostrils and he realized he wasn't dead.

The crying woman was Sophie and he was lying on a Hospital bed. God almighty, for some reason, had speared him once more.

His eyelids were as heavy as leaden yet he managed to open them. Sophie was by the bed, sobbing with her head hiding between her arms as one of her hands grabbed one of his. Her back was shaking up and down as she cried her broken heart and the words "Wake up, please, wake up!" constantly stumbled out of her mouth.

His voice came low and raspy when he called her name and he found his throat was sore, really, really sore. She practically jumped at the sound of him calling her. "You're awake!" She yelled as she cleaned her face with her hands.

"What happened?" He managed to say, fighting how exhausted he felt.

"You saved me and got shot." She responded with a shaky voice, grabbing his hand harder as if she were afraid he'd die again if she let go.

"I know, darlin'..." He closed his eyes, not being able to keep them open anymore. "After that."

"You died! You actually died!" And he noticed she was crying again. "You lost so much blood and the doctors didn't know if you were going to make it and I felt so scared and you... you didn't fight!" He managed to open his eyes and stare at her, Sophie was a wreck, she was still inside the same dress he had last seen her with, her hair was messy, her eyes red and swollen and he was sure she hadn't eaten or slept in days.

"Where are the others?" He asked it because he didn't want to face her accusation.

"They'd only let relatives in; currently I am your wife." She responded simply.

"For how long have ya been here?"

"Five days, the time you've been asleep. You didn't fight, Eliot. Why?" She had her arms crossed in front of her, messy strands of dark hair falling to her face, giving a much simpler look than usual.

"Why would I, hon'?" He asked, too tired to say more.

"To stay with us!" She marked, her voice, higher, hurt and offended. He shook his head.

"_I've done so much wrong… You four are a blessing that I don't deserve. I don't get to fight for you when I've taken so much, I accept what's coming with the dignity that I have left. And don't think I am not grateful for these years, I am, but I must accept my fate…" _That was what he wanted to tell her yet nothing came out of his lips, no word, no sound at hell so he started at her with wide blue eyes begging that she'd read him for he did not wish to cause more pain. She shook her head as she got up from her place and walked away.

"I'll go tell the others you're awake..." and her voice was so low, so painful to his hears; suddenly she stopped and walked back leaning over the bed and kissing him on the lips.

"If you're not going to fight for yourself; fight for me!" and she left.

Five years later

It was the same scenario again, he was lying on the floor with a blurry vision and too much blood coming out of his body, he was cold, numb and the tips of his fingers and lips were grey, his eyes were unfocused and his forehead was covered in sweat, his throat was dry and his chest burn, there was a different thing this time though. He knew he was going to hell; he knew he deserved it yet he didn't want to go, not yet, not that night.

He couldn't feel Nate's hands on his lower abdomen, pressing against his wound, he couldn't hear Parker going through the first aid kit they had on the Van, searching for something that would help him, he couldn't hear Hardison calling nine one one, yet he felt her scent; Vanilla.

"Soph..." He called with his eyes closed. "Don't let me fall asleep!" He begged; he truly wanted to stay.

"I won't." and her voice sounded fairway.

"Tell me... about Adam ..." He asked and his entire body shook as he coughed and blood came out of his mouth, a situation that was too terribly familiar.

Sophie stared at the fading man on the ground. It was so ironic, the one time he fought for his life was also the one time he wasn't going win. She ignored the tears running down their face and started talking. She told him everything he already knew, he told him about the boy's big dark brown eyes, full of eyelashes, about his easy laugh and his charming smile that was his father's, she told him about his stubbornness and courage, about the proud on his voice every time he talked about daddy. That he loved purple and hated red, how he had cried the night the fish died.

And in the end when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore she told him between tears that when his five year boy asked her why daddy was gone she'd tell him that he loved his boy, but that he had gone to heaven where he belonged.

Sophie Deveraux believed men with good in their hearts would go to heaven, no matter his deeds. She was right.

* * *

Eliot saw himself standing at the door of his childhood home, with his father smoking on the front porch and the horses he had bought him running free on the back, as he entered the house, the scent of cake immediately overloaded his senses. He practically ran there to found his momma singing in the kitchen as she prepared dinner, she was wearing the smile he remembered.

"Eliot" she said and he felt like a little boy and hugged her, she smelt like cookie dough and herself and to be in her arms felt as safe as always. She stepped away first, brushing his scruff with the tip of her fingers. "My boy's all grown up..." and her eyes were shiny and dreamy as he had never seen before. They were staring at each other when he heard baby cries from above.

He left the kitchen and headed for the stairs, as he climbed them the old wood steps transformed into a newer, lighter one and the rail, that was also wood, transformed into iron. When he climbed the last step he recognized he was in a different house, the one he had bought for his brother a long time ago.

He opened the door to find his sister-in-law rocking her baby on a swing chair as his brother stared at them in adoration

"Isn't he the best thing in the world?" His brother asked staring at him with blue, honest, eyes. Eliot smiled and nodded. "We don't blame you. For nothing." The woman said from the chair and started singing to the still crying baby. "Whatever choices you made, we know we did the best you could!" His brother reassured placing a big hand over his shoulder and squeezing lightly. Eliot smiled; he was at peace; finally.

At the moment he realised it, the moment he realised he had nothing to fear, everything disappeared.

He woke on the same Hospital bed with the same British woman begging him to wake up. The woman he loved.

"You fought!" She said between tears as he smiled.

"I did. I will" He promised and everyone knew he always kept his promises.

Eliot Spencer lived the rest of his life without the fear or the weight on his chest he felt for thinking he'd be punished; that he deserved to be punished. He lived the rest of this life to the fullest, almost died a handful of times, and enjoyed every minute he had as a blessing.

He died at the advanced age of eighty-three followed by Sophie two years later. "Here lies Eliot Spencer a man with a good heart and pure intentions." Was written on his tomb stone.

**Did you like it, or should I have let them stay alive and well? Please tell me what you think of it. **


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